Where Morpheus went lay far beneath the castle.
Hidden under layers of stone and silence was a vast hollowed chamber, a space wide enough to perform rituals long forbidden, or rituals that demanded room not only for massive magic circles but for the forces they summoned.
The walls were etched with ancient writings, dulled with age yet still pulsing faintly with restrained power. This place had been shaped by Morpheus's own hands after the curse had spread through the sorcerers, built in secrecy and sealed away from all eyes.
It had always been meant for this night.
From the very beginning, he had known that there would come a moment when patience would no longer serve him. He had told himself the chamber was merely a precaution, a contingency should matters spiral beyond control. Yet standing there now, surrounded by the quiet hum of dormant magic, he understood the lie he had fed himself.
All this time, he had waited.
